


Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Mythology, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki's Children - Freeform, Odin is a Douche, Pre-Movie, but it's sorta canon, past(ish) mpreg, sort of angsty?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For those considered argr enough to not warrant a place in the Hall of the Fallen, there are two alternatives.</p>
<p>The worst of the worst – the murderers, the rapists, the oath-breakers – go to Niflheim, the realm of darkness. There, they are tortured for eternity; a fitting punishment for their crimes during life.</p>
<p>There is one other place left for those who deserve neither a place in the Golden Hall of Valhöll, nor a place in the tortuous pits of Niflheim.</p>
<p>It is a place of peace, and shadows.</p>
<p>This realm is called Helheim, and it is ruled by the grim Lady Hela, daughter of the Trickster Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-movie.  
> Also, my first ever fic for this fandom, which has unexpectedly consumed my life these past few months.
> 
> Title is a quote from Hermann Hesse.

It would not come as a shock to anyone to learn that death plays a rather important role in Asgardian society and culture.

From the minute a male Áss is deemed old enough to wield a weapon, he is constantly aware of the ultimate goal he should strive towards in life and in battle: an honourable death.

After all; as any of the aforementioned young Æsir could tell you, only the honourable dead go to Valhöll.

For this reason, young warriors of Asgard are trained, mentally and physically, to ensure that they will die, gloriously, in battle – to _enjoy_ the chaos of war; the blood, the adrenalin, even the weariness.

What better way is there to confirm your child’s place in the Golden Hall than teaching him to actively seek out his one-way journey there?

 

Of course, Valhöll could not be left bereft of women, even though many of them never set foot on a battlefield. Childbirth is considered an honourable and glorious achievement for any woman, and a mother who dies bearing a child is spoken of with the same respect as a warrior fallen in battle. They are assumed to live in Valhöll, with the rest of the honourable dead.

For those considered _argr_ enough to not warrant a place in the Hall of the Fallen, there are two alternatives.

The worst of the worst – the murderers, the rapists, the oath-breakers – go to Niflheim, the realm of darkness. There, they are tortured for eternity; a fitting punishment for their crimes during life - and, as the typical Æsir lifespan is quite long, these unfortunate people are certain to have been guilty of many.

There is one other place left for those who deserve neither a place in the Golden Hall of Valhöll, nor a place in the tortuous pits of Niflheim.

It is a place of peace, and shadows.

This realm is called Helheim, and it is ruled by the grim Lady Hela, daughter of the Trickster Loki.

 

 

Loki was still considered quite young when he gave birth to his only daughter. Of course, the fact that he had already borne three other children at that time did nothing to stop the whispers at court. In fact, the whispers were louder than usual on the day Hela was born – everyone remembered what had happened to Loki’s other children. They were, like many sorcerers’ children, not in the form of an Áss – Sleipnir the Eight-Footed Steed, Jörmungandr the World-Serpent and Fenrir the Great Wolf.

However, in all other aspects they were children. They went to sleep early, created mischief wherever they went and craved the attention and affection of their mother and grandmother.

Loki and Lady Frigga were their only protectors and carers at court. While Thor did not actively treat them cruelly – stare at them, frown, whisper behind the children’s backs like the other Asgardians did - his indifference to them was, in its own way, just as damaging.

And, in the end, Thor always followed his father.

Odin did not care for his only grandchildren, and he made no secret of it. The Allfather seemed constantly disappointed in Loki for producing such offspring, at such an early age – after all, was it not improper for the younger prince to have children before the elder? Loki, as he always did, suffered his father’s frowns with a quick tongue and half-smirk, continuing to raise his children as best as he could, given their circumstances.

He would shift into his familiar mare form to run in the fields with his swift eldest child, Sleipnir the Eight-Legged. He would cast a protective shield around him the night before every battle, so that he could concentrate on his own safety without worrying about his son’s. He would remove his armour and tack afterwards, give him a wash and check his hooves – and sneak him one of Idunn’s apples, if he could. Sleipnir was fond of them.

 

Jörmungandr, his second-eldest, shared his predilection for mischief and magic. Often, Loki would spend hours at a time in the library with him, speaking together in the hisses and rattles of the language of serpents and teaching him the tricks he himself learned as a boy. They would continue until the sun set on the Golden City, or until Jörmungandr fell asleep – and he often did, coiled around Loki’s arm.

Fenrir was more active than his brothers; constantly bounding around after his mother during the day, yipping and nipping playfully at Loki’s heels – or the heels of any other Asgardian that happened to walk by, Fenrir didn’t discriminate.

At night, he would fall asleep in the candlelight, curled up in the Trickster’s lap, twitching occasionally and breathing out soft puffs of air. Loki would bury his fingers in his son’s silky fur and relax, sometimes peeking into the wolf’s dreaming mind and allowing the bright splashes of colour he saw there to lull him to sleep as well.

 

No one in Asgard, however they felt personally about the mischievous younger Prince’s strange children, could deny that Loki loved them all very much.

 

Which was why, on the day Odin’s temper finally snapped and he sent Jörmungandr and Fenrir away, Loki felt more betrayed than he ever had in his long life - because no one came to his aid.

Nobody – not Thor, not the Warriors Three or Sif, not even Frigga, his sole supporter over the centuries.

 

 

Loki could not remember that day well. It was a blur to him, although he gathered later that it was certainly a day for the history annals. He had begged, of that he was certain. Begged and screamed, alternate approaches as he pleaded with the Allfather not to take his children away from him.

He had swallowed his pride and sobbed on his knees before the entire court that day, and it had not done him – or his poor children - a jot of good.

As Thor held his kicking and howling form back, Loki had watched as Jörmungandr and Fenrir were led out of the city, out of Asgard and to the punishment and banishment they had done nothing to deserve.

Jörmungandr – quick, mischievous Jörmungandr – was banished to Midgard’s oceans. Large as he was, Loki’s second eldest had quickly become a ‘nuisance’ to the court. Many a time a member of Odin’s council would exit the doors of the throne room only to trip over his huge scaly form as he twisted his way through the palace. Loki had seen many of these nobles kick the serpent’s side in annoyance – thankfully for them, Jörmungandr could rarely feel them.

Not that that protected them from the razor-sharp tongue and icy glare of the snake’s mother, when he caught them. Loki wasn’t called a master of flyting for nothing.

But Loki could do nothing, this time. Cutting words and threats of spilled secrets could not change Odin Allfather’s mind.

Jörmungandr was taken from him and thrown into the deep waters of Midgard to become the dreaded World-Serpent, with only the pale, weak sunlight that managed to filter down through the waves to warm his scales.  No more magic lessons for him – only cold darkness.

 

Fenrir – the sight of the young cub bounding happily away with Tyr (the one Áss he seemed to trust, apart from his mother and grandmother) would remain scorched into the Trickster’s mind. Centuries later, whenever he thought of his little wolf, that would be the image that slipped, unbidden into his mind – the cub’s fur fluffed up by the wind, tongue lolling happily out of his mouth as he trotted obliviously away with his kidnapper.

Excited as he was, Fenrir didn’t even look back to glance at his mother before he left. Why should he have? He believed that he would be returning to the Golden City at the end of the day’s adventures, ready to tell the Trickster, in his little yips and growls, just exactly how many squirrels and birds he had managed to chase.

He had no idea that he would never see his home or his mother again.

 

Thinking of Fenrir was even more painful to Loki than thinking of what had befallen his elder sons – because, while he at least knew the whereabouts and well-being of Jörmungandr and Sleipnir, he had no idea where they had taken innocent, playful Fenrir.

Sometimes, late at night, Loki would get little snatches of sound and feeling from the almost severed mind link he still shared with Fenrir – but as these consisted of faint whimpers and a muted sense of misery and isolation, even this small contact was of no comfort to him.

 

 

 

Loki, who once simply had a knack and fondness for mischief, soon became even more withdrawn, even more strange. He stopped sparring with his brother and the Warriors Three, instead sneaking out to train alone at twilight when everyone else was feasting in the palace.

He began to hole himself up more and more in the archives, studying and perfecting his magic with a fervent zeal that worried even Frigga. In the first decades after his children were taken away, Loki doubled, then tripled, then quadrupled his worth as a _seiðmaðr._ Soon he was the most powerful one in Asgard, surpassing the Allfather with ease.

Loki’s behaviour in front of his family and the court also changed. For the most part, he was quiet, preferring to stand in the background and observe more than anything else. Thor missed his brother’s entertaining commentary whispered to him on the business of the court (usually when he himself couldn’t make head nor hide of what was going on). He even missed the way Loki used to pull stupid expressions from across the council table or simply stare unflinchingly at him until Thor burst out laughing, earning an annoyed look from Odin and a victorious smile from Loki.

Loki held himself apart now, only arriving at meetings when he was needed and leaving again as soon as he was not.

There was a tension between Loki and Odin now, unnoticeable to all except those closest to them. Where before, Loki would have been nothing but respectful to Odin, there was now something else in the way he spoke to his father, the way he answered his questions. He was still respectful on the surface, of course – he would have been a fool to openly disrespect the King himself, even as one of the Princes of the realm. But now, there was a sense that Loki didn’t really mean any of his courteousness – that it was all just more of his play-acting, another of his games.

No one quite knew what to make of it. Frigga and Thor began to observe them closely and hope that nothing would come of it.

 

 

Loki had already earned the names Sky-Traveller, and Path-Wanderer, and Shape-Changer. Now, his improved skill for twisting words to suit himself and his ability to charm anything out of anyone gave him the titles Lie-Smith and Silvertongue.

 

 

 

Around a century after Jörmungandr and Fenrir were taken away, Loki left to travel the Nine Realms on his own. This, in itself was not unusual – Loki disappeared so often that no one even asked him what he had been up to when he returned anymore.

What _was_ unusual about this particular trip was the fact that, three months after his return to the Golden City, Loki gave birth to yet another child – a daughter this time, one who was feared dead until she began to wail. She had the beginnings of Loki’s unusual pale skin and dark hair – on one side of her face, at least. The other side was grey and cold to touch, her eye, when it finally fully opened, milky and glazed. The Royal Healers were shocked and  obviously frightened of this strange, half-dead baby. Even Frigga hesitated when Loki offered her the chance to hold her.

Loki loved her immediately, and called her _Hela._

 

 

Hela grew more slowly than any of her siblings.  Her living half grew long, silky black hair. Her eye was a brilliant green colour, her most striking resemblance to her mother. She took after him in other ways too – she enjoyed spending hours with him in the library, breathing in the musty smell of sunlight hitting ancient pages. She would come with Loki to council meetings, sitting on his lap and observing the arguing adults around her, never fidgeting, never losing her concentration or asking to leave. The council members often found this part of her more disconcerting than her appearance – that this little girl would sit in the corner of the room, her arms tightly wound around Loki’s neck, and be able to convey the same scathing look - clearly saying _all of you are incompetent -_ as her Trickster mother could.

She would leave with Loki as quietly as they came, clutching tightly onto his hand and murmuring to him in _Sindarin_ , the rarely spoken language of the Sindarian elves of Alfheim. Loki had raised her fluent in it, as well as the Asgardian tongue – mainly because the Elven language was one only a few in Asgard could speak, and he knew it unnerved the members of the court to hear he and his daughter conversing together in what was effectively a secret language.

 

Loki doted on Hela, perhaps even more so than he had his other children. Whenever he left on a diplomatic mission to Vanaheim or Alfheim or Midgard, (leaving his daughter in the care of Frigga), he would return with gifts of a new book of tales for her to read, or a new velvet dress from the markets, or a soft fur blanket. They slept together and ate together, and one was rarely seen without the other.

Eventually, the rest of Loki’s family began to love her too. Frigga was the first to be won over by the charms of the strange, serious child. She sewed her new tapestries, and gave her pieces of jewellery from her own collection to go with the dresses Loki brought her.

Thor, hesitant and awkward around her at first, quickly overcame this and soon began offering to take his niece out riding with him to the planes just beyond the southern wall of the city. And they did go, she and Thor and Loki, taking Sleipnir with them and enjoying the sunlight and fresh air.

 

Loki would watch the laughing Thor chase Hela around the tall grass, looking ridiculous with his blunted, child-sized sword in his hand, and think that, although his other children had led lonely, pain-filled lives, at least Hela would be safe in Asgard.

And, when Hela would inevitably tire out and instead turn to earnestly brandish her sword and shield at Thor, Loki would join her in giving chase to the Crown Prince of Asgard, happy in a way he hadn’t been in centuries.

 

 

Loki, years later, realised how foolish he was to believe that it could ever last.

 

The Allfather, in his usual way, changed everything.

 

 

Loki hadn’t known the extent of Hela’s own seiðr until he discovered it in a way he wished he hadn’t.

 

Hela was unnaturally cold, that was certain. Her ‘dead’ side remained as grey and lifeless as it had been when she was born. But Loki himself had always maintained a strange coldness to his own skin, and so thought little of it. It didn’t seem to bother her, it didn’t bother him, and she rarely touched anyone except for Loki, and occasional brushes of her hand against Frigga’s or Thor’s face or neck when she was feeling particularly affectionate.

 

It was the celebrated Summer Harvest in Asgard. People from all over the city were granted special, one day only access to Idunn’s orchard, to help gather the life-giving golden apples from their branches.  It was a well-known festival, and much looked-forward to. The apples were very precious to the Æsir – giving them long-life as they did – and people leaped at the chance of the honour of picking them off the trees themselves. Even the Royal family, and all the nobles of the court, were expected to join in.

 

For the second year in a row, Loki had brought Hela with him. He knew she loved it – everyone did – and it was one of the few occasions where no one would look twice or stare at the half-dead princess of Asgard. She enjoyed the feeling of working with her mother and uncle and grandmother to achieve a common goal.

This day, she looked so determined and serious – with her hair carefully braided and tied up to avoid getting in her way, and the sleeves of her deep indigo dress rolled up to her elbows – that even Odin himself, who maintained a certain unease around his only granddaughter, smiled at the sight of her.

 

Loki was in one of his rare, truly content moods as he carefully picked the golden apples from the tree he had been assigned.  Everything seemed right to him, for once – which was why he ignored the shiver of unease that rolled down his back, like a bead of sweat, when he heard Hela’s quiet, unusually unsteady voice ask ‘Mother?’

 

He turned to look at her, standing with her own basket at the tree behind him, and froze.

The trunk of the tree was quickly becoming grey and withered.  The branches were twisting up and shrivelling, the decay spreading through to the apples. They dropped to the ground, blackened, turned to mush.

Dead.

 

Loki moved fast, but not fast enough. He reached Hela and pulled her to him at the same moment a shocked, heavy silence finished sweeping through the orchard.

Loki ignored it all. He wiped the tears from his daughter’s living eye, took her hand and ran.

Behind them, Idunn began to wail.

 

 

 

Nobody knew what to do. Idunn had taken one look at the tree and pronounced it dead. The millennia-old tree would have to be cut down, and judging by the blackened ground at its roots, none other would grow there again.

There was no set punishment laid down for anyone who destroyed one of the famed golden apple trees of Asgard. There had been no need. The apples gave the Æsir their long lives, kept even four thousand year old Asgardians capable and willing to fight for the Realm Eternal on the battlefield. No one wasted a single apple. Even the youngest children knew not to climb the branches of the trees in Idunn’s orchard.

 

Loki and Hela sat in their chambers. They were practically alone in the Palace – only a few guards remained to patrol the throne room and the Hall of Relics – so Loki knew that, for now at least, he would have the peace and quiet to both calm his daughter down and think through this awful situation they found themselves in.

‘I only touched it, Mama’

‘I know, Hel, I know. It’ll be alright. I’ll think of something, I promise you’

Loki rocked her until her sobs quietened, and she lay limp in his arms. It was getting dark outside, and Loki knew they had precious few hours left until the celebrations – if there were to be any celebrations, that is, after what happened – ceased and Odin came to find them.

He gently shook Hela awake, at the same time reaching over to pick up a potted, brightly-leafed plant from Alfheim that he kept near the window.

‘Touch it, and let’s see what happens’

Wiping the tear stains from her cheeks, and with a trembling hand, she did.

They watched it blacken and crumple, the leaves shrivelling up and dropping to land on the floor.

 

 

When Loki woke the next morning, Hela was nowhere to be seen.

 

Loki transformed into a she-wolf and ran as fast as she could make her four legs carry her. She didn’t even bother shifting back before bursting into the throne room, hackles already raised and a growl building in her throat.

Hela was there, standing before Odin. They both looked up as Loki made her entrance but, while Odin stood and held Loki’s furious gaze unflinchingly, Hela lowered her head and moved slowly down the steps.

Loki pulled himself upright and back into his normal skin; the change coming to him, as it always had, as easily as breathing. He hurried over to Hela but stopped when she looked up, her ‘living’ half so full of misery and resignation that he was stopped in his tracks.

He stared at her, barely aware that somewhere in the back of his mind, he was beginning to chant the same word over and over and over: _no, no, no, no, nononono….._

His breathing was beginning to quicken, his heart already pounding by the time Odin spoke the words Loki knew were coming.

‘Loki, Hela is leaving Asgard’

 

Loki said nothing. In his mind, a thousand curses were howling; against Odin, against Idunn, against the Norns, against _himself for letting this happen again._

But Loki could do nothing except stagger to his knees on the cold marble floor. He was dimly aware that Odin was still talking, giving one of his usual speeches, but he could not listen.

Hela made her way over to him, stopping a few feet away. She kept her hands behind her back but stood straight. From this distance, it was obvious she had been crying – tear tracks ran down the ‘living’ side of her face, from her only eye that was capable of shedding tears. But she was determined as well, and Loki knew what she was going to say even before she said them.

‘Mother, it’s not safe with me here anymore. I’m a danger to every living thing in Asgard. Odin Allfather is going to send me somewhere I can live on my own and not harm anyone. It’s better this way’

Loki reached for her unthinkingly, and Hela’s composure slipped. She jerked back with a whimper, out of Loki’s reach.

‘Don’t, Mama. I’ll hurt you’

She was crying again.

Loki lurched forward and, not heeding her protests, pulled her into him. She struggled for a few moments, then wound her arms so tightly around Loki that, for a second, he could pretend to himself that she was never going to let go again.

 

 

Loki took to wandering the Bifrost alone most evenings, after Hela was gone. He would stare out into the swirling clouds of stars and light and wonder what the sky looked like where she was in Niflheim. Whether she was cold.

 Sometimes he would be hours there, standing at the edge of space. No one ever came to call him back to the Palace.

 

Years passed. Thor began to train for the throne. Odin became even more distant from Loki. He rarely addressed him, not when Thor was in the room.

Loki spent most of his time with Frigga, or Sleipnir, or alone.

He was beginning to know, in his heart, what his mind had already suspected for centuries – that Odin truly did love Thor more than he loved Loki. He would never give his second son the throne. He was forever unimpressed with any feat Loki managed to accomplish, and forever praising Thor’s achievements.

After a while, Loki stopped trying to become something more in his father’s eyes and instead turned his mind to other things.  Things like _just what he could do to ruin his brother’s big day……_

 

The night before Thor’s coronation, Loki walked the Bifrost, as usual. This time though, he walked with purpose, eventually reaching Heimdall’s observatory.

He spotted the Gatekeeper, impassively gazing out onto the cosmos, and stepped quietly beside him.

He did not say anything to the man. Heimdall would already know why he was there.

‘I should not be telling you this, Silvertongue. The King expressed his concerns that you would attempt to bring her back if you knew where she is’

Loki nodded. He hadn’t even asked until now; not of Odin, nor of Frigga. He knew that they wouldn’t provide a truthful answer.

Heimdall sighed.

‘She lives in her own realm, Helheim, and cares for the souls of those who warrant neither a place in Valhöl, nor in the torture pits of Niflheim. She is well, but thinks of you often’

Loki bowed his head, forcing his careful mask of indifference to remain on his face. He had no doubt that anything he said and did here, even the expressions he wore, would be reported back to the Allfather eventually.

He looked up again.

‘Her own realm?’

Heimdall nodded solemnly.

‘Aye. She rules as queen there’

 

Loki was shocked, at first. And then he began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, uncaring of the tears trickling down his face.

Because while he now knew - regardless of the lies he was fed as a boy - that he never had stood, and never would stand, a chance at being king, he has become the mother of a queen, and that is good enough.

 

Deep down, Loki realises that he always knew it was never going to work.

Although Thor getting banished was a nice bonus, Loki really hadn’t expected things to go so far. He hadn’t expected Odin to lose his temper so absolutely.

But Loki doesn’t know Odin half as well as he used to think he did. That meeting between them in the Hall of Relics proved that.

 

Loki screams up at Odin, desperate words.

 

‘I could have done it, Father. I could have done it!’

 

As Loki stares up at his adopted father, he lets his mind wander back to a time when his life was infinitely better.

He sees Thor, younger and so, _so_ bright, the Thor who wasn’t yet ashamed of his _argr_ sorcerer brother.

He sees tall grass, and sunlight, and an eight-legged horse happily flicking flies from his back.

He sees a small, dark, half-dead girl, smiling as she brandishes a wooden sword at her mother’s brother.

Here, hanging from Gungnir over the howling winds left in the wake of Heimdall’s observatory as it falls, crumbling away, Loki’s longing for Hela is heightened to a deep, throbbing ache, and he wishes, beyond anything, that he could see her again.

It’s when Odin murmurs back, stern and disappointed, ‘No, Loki’, that he realises what it is he is going to do. What all the mess of the past few days has really been leading up to, in a way.

Loki takes one last look at his brother, and, past him, the man who raised him, and he remembers that he _can_ see his daughter again; quite easily.

All he has to do is let go.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope somebody enjoyed this.


End file.
